Not Enough
by ElizabethAnnFanfic
Summary: Missing scenes and post-episode fic for The Beginning 6x1. UST and Angst. The X-files are taken from Mulder and Scully. Mulder deals with his feelings for Scully. Scully deals with her anger over Agent Fowley's seeming hold over Mulder.
1. Chapter 1

Timeline: 6x1 The Beginning

Category: Missing Scenes & Post Episode

Mulder balled his fists as he walked down the hallway away from what had been his office. 'Fucking Spender.' He ground his teeth together. 'Fucking Diana.' That's one he didn't see coming. Spender was a snake, but Diana? He had continued to defend her, despite Scully's misgivings. It appeared Scully had been right. Diana was a backstabber. And she had damn good aim: he felt like he had a gaping hole in his chest.

'How damn pathetic,' he thought, considering his happiness at seeing her several months ago. He pressed the button on the elevator several times. He tapped his foot vigorously. 'Bitch.' And she'd had the nerve to insinuate that she would be a better partner for him than Scully. Scully had something over Diana. True, Diana believed in "paranormal mumbo jumbo," as Spender had termed it. And yes, Scully didn't believe. She was presently in a meeting thwarting his story of an alien ship that rose out of the Antarctic ice as she was slumped over his shoulder having been rescued from an alien virus. Her science didn't support what he'd seen. But she still had something over on Diana. Mulder now had a partner who stayed even when she didn't believe. She didn't need to believe in aliens and ghosts and mutants—she believed in him.

And he could add something to Scully's winning column that he was mentally tabulating. Somewhere above feisty and intelligent, Mulder added 'not a fucking backstabber.' The doors of the elevator slid open and Mulder sighed, happy that no one was inside. He wanted to get the hell out of there and wait for Scully to escape that meeting, so he could rant and bellow. He'd wait in the car for her. He flipped open his phone as the doors slid open once more. Stepping out, he pressed the speed dial number for his partner.

"Scully, it's me. When you get out of that damn meeting, meet me in the parking lot."

* * *

Scully approached Mulder's car. He didn't seemingly see her coming. He was hunched over the steering wheel with his head in his hands. He'd taken off his coat and his tie was hanging askew from his neck. She tapped on the passenger side window, but he didn't move. She tried the door handle: it was unlocked.

"Mulder?" she asked, sliding into the seat.

He raised his head. "How'd the meeting go?" he asked flatly. He didn't look her in the eye. She got the distinct feeling that he didn't much care to hear about the meeting. Before she could answer, however, he turned to face her. "It's Diana and Spender."

She read the pain in his eyes. "I know," she said softly. She snaked her hand out across the console to grip his arm.

He turned back to the wheel. "Where to?" he asked, clearly deflated.

Scully sighed, not knowing what to say. She couldn't congratulate herself on being right about Agent Fowley.

"How about Phoenix?" he asked, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

"Arizona?" Scully asked, pulling away her hand and straightening her coat.

"Skinner's put me on to a case that we'll have to do under the radar."

"Skinner?"

"Yep," he said, turning the key in the ignition.

"We're going to head cross country on an unauthorized case? Mulder, you know what could happen to us, if we pursue these types of things."

"Yeah, but don't worry: I'll swing by your apartment so you can pack your things for the trip."

Scully shook her head. It was pointless to try to stop him. He'd either go with her or without her, and she didn't want him going alone. At least he wasn't ditching her.

* * *

'Okaaay,' she thought as Mulder stalked away from her. Clearly his feelings were spilling out and they were all being directed right at her—rightly or not. He hadn't said anything about the new X-Files agents other than to voice their names in his car. He'd said precious little about her testimony either. She'd expected something more: A Mulder tirade perhaps. But, maybe he felt like she'd betrayed him just as Diana had—maybe the two were linked in his mind. 'Damn it,' she inwardly swore. That hadn't been her intention.

She pushed her hair out of her face and walked towards the car. He stood there, watching her approach and leaning against his open door: if she hadn't known him better, she would have thought that he looked relaxed, but she knew that he was burning just under the surface. They were probably in for a silent ride. A bitter silence that would make her wish that she could just abandon everything she believed in—for his sake. She'd been indulging in such dangerous lines of thought lately. She remembered bits and pieces of things from their icy vacation, but nothing more. He had his version of events. It would be easy enough to meld what little she remembered with his story and interpret the evidence in such a way as to make it all seem plausible. He so wanted her to remember it all…to confirm his beliefs.

But she couldn't abandon the science. And yet, it was more of an effort than usual to be the skeptic. A part of her wished she could just cave in to his need for her to back him up. It would be a heck of a lot easier and maybe it would ease the ache in her chest. He'd gone to the ends of the earth for her. That was never far from her mind recently. The other part of her couldn't help feeling that giving in to his pressure would be a real betrayal—of their partnership and the friendship they'd developed. If he'd meant the things he'd said to her in his apartment, then she needed to stay strong for the both of them.

* * *

He'd intended on letting it all out many hours ago. Telling her about Diana's betrayal and how she'd been right about it. Telling her that his life's work was being torn from him and how he didn't think he could handle it without her. How he needed her. That's what he was thinking, anyway, hunched over his steering wheel and waiting for her to emerge from the meeting. But when she'd gotten into the car, he couldn't make himself say any of those things.

He was somewhat relieved that she'd been good enough not to press him about any of it. He'd realized as she slid into the car that he couldn't trust himself. Her hand on his arm confirmed it. If she started asking him questions, he really would say everything and more. The last time he'd gotten panicky and done that it hadn't turned out well. This time there wouldn't be a bee to stop him. That was a frightening prospect, because he needed her too much to take any chances. Better to do nothing. Say nothing. They were good at that. She'd play along. Scully hated laying it all out there anyway.

Except he couldn't completely manage to keep it together. He was well aware as a psychologist that repressed feelings tend to present themselves in unpleasant ways. He was projecting on Scully when he unloaded on her outside the house. Yes, he wanted Scully to believe as he did. But, he wouldn't want her to compromise herself. The frustration he felt was being redirected unfairly. Working to convince his scientific partner of the validity of his theories was what made him a better agent and a better man. Actively working to bottle up his feelings about her personally was a different story. And ignoring the fact the Diana had stolen the x-files from him caused him to be able to do both at once: he would have to choose. Confront her about the fact that she'd said nothing about his attempt to kiss her or belittle her for refusing to believe in aliens, in extreme possibilities, in him. The unconscious choice had probably been an easy one.

* * *

'God damn it!' If she could, she'd get out of the car and demand that Agent Fowley speak to her instead of her partner. Pull her out of her damn car by her collar and demand she speak with her—agent to agent. No more manipulations. She'd tell her where to go. Her partner sure wasn't going to.

"It's okay," came a voice from the back, drawing her attention.

Scully turned to look at Gibson, who sat calmly in the back seat, looking the worse for wear.

He repeated himself: "it's okay."

Scully threw the car in reverse. 'This is not happening,' she thought as she watched the car bearing Mulder and Agent Fowley drive away.

"He thought he had to go with her. You know what it means to him."

'I'm pretty sure I know what she means to him,' she thought bitterly. "We have to get you to a hospital. Get you some help," Scully replied numbly, as she pulled out of the hotel's parking lot.

"He knew I'd be okay with you."

Scully looked at Gibson in the rearview mirror. 'Of course he did. Leave me with you and run off with Diana. Chase monsters with Diana.' She swallowed and the dryness of her mouth made the act difficult. "You don't have to talk, if you don't feel like it," she told him. She almost wanted him to stop talking, because she wasn't sure she wanted to be privy to whatever motivated Mulder to quickly trust Agent Fowley again. 'Just what had she said to him?'

"She told him that she's still on his side."

'I'm sure.'

"She's lying," Gibson continued calmly.

Scully sighed. Again, she could take no joy in the fact that she was right and Mulder was wrong. Generally she found those moments to be pleasant little victories. He was right too much of the time. This victory was just further evidence that Diana held a sway over Mulder that beat anything she could muster.

Gibson's increasingly tired voice interrupted her thoughts: "That's not true."

* * *

Mulder shrugged his coat onto the floor as he slammed his apartment door behind him. Seeing the basketball on the side table he picked it up and palmed it at the wall. The sketches above his couch rattled: he would have liked for them to fall and shatter. He kicked his shoes off and walked into the kitchen. 'Please God let there be a bottle of whiskey in here,' he thought, opening the cabinet. Emptiness stared back at him. Not even a stale pack of Saltines. He shut the cabinet and walked back into his living room to collapse on the couch.

He rested his head in his hands. 'Well done, Romeo.' Scully had looked incredibly hurt. 'Good job on that one, Slick.' She had kept saying "we" and he'd kept spitting back Diana at her, because her "we" wasn't enough for him. Her "we" was the partnership. Her "we" was scientist and kook. Mulder shook his head in his hands: she may not believe in the same things as him, but she didn't think he was a kook. She was working to prove everything for him—prove it with science—so that the world couldn't dismiss it or him. That was dedication, but it wasn't the "we" he wanted.

That's why he'd kept sticking her with Diana barbs. No, Diana didn't need science. Diana also didn't need him. And he didn't need Diana. He was convinced that Diana was still on his side, however. The alternative was too unpleasant. If Diana was willing to do the bidding of his enemies, if she was truly betraying him like Scully said, then he hadn't chosen his friends as carefully as he liked to believe. He was supposed to be good at that—as a psychologist, as a profiler. He'd been happy to see her and it had been imminently painful to think for a time that he'd be totally wrong about her. It was easier to believe in her and to believe that he hadn't been making terrible decisions all along. Diana was a pleasant memory—not something to be regretted. If she could help him now, then all the better.

But, Scully was the here and now.

"You asking me to make a choice?" he'd challenged her.

Mulder swung his legs around stretching out on the couch. He was daring her: make me choose. Make me choose, and then live with my decision. Because Mulder wouldn't have to think twice. If he had to choose, he'd choose Scully ten thousand times over. It didn't matter that he thought she was wrong about Diana or wrong about the connection between Gibson's DNA, her own infection, and the alien virus. He chose her. But he didn't think Scully could handle that. If he wanted to drive her away, he knew the best way to do it.

'Tell her you love her.' She'd run as fast as her little legs could carry her. Because her "we" was biometrically opposed to the one he'd been fashioning in his mind over time. There was no room in Scully's "we" for his messy personal feelings. This wasn't news. He'd known that for as long as he'd acknowledged his own feelings for his diminutive partner. And for a while it had been enough: to love her, to be alongside her, to be in his head. But, when she'd said she was leaving several months ago, it no longer seemed like he had the luxury to stay inside of his head. Everything had begun to pour out of him like emotional lava. It would either burn everything in its tracks or something new could develop out of the rubble. Except, neither had happened. It was as if everything he'd said and _almost_ done in his hallway had never happened. She didn't mention it. He didn't mention it.

He'd almost said everything to her in his panicked state. But, he hadn't said he loved her. Maybe if he had, he wouldn't feel the need to constantly strike out at her. It wasn't her fault; he had to keep reminding himself that. It wasn't her fault that he was a coward. It wasn't her fault that she didn't return the feelings he felt for her. She was wrong about alien life—of that he was sure—but he'd known she was wrong about that since the beginning. But, she was a good partner. A good friend. She was irreplaceable. And he was treating her like shit. There was no point in changing out of his suit: he wasn't going to sleep tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

Timeline: 6x1 The Beginning pt 2

Category: Post Episode

There was a chill in the air between Scully and Mulder for several days after she had announced to him her views on Agent Fowley and he'd defiantly asked her if she wanted him to choose. That had been humiliating—it had opened up a hole in her and exposed her for what she was. It was lovely to pretend that she hated Fowley on principle…on strictly moral and professional terms. But the truth of it was that she also hated her for reasons that she wasn't entirely comfortable with. When Mulder had spit those words at her she was exposed: he had to know that she had fallen prey to the green eyed monster. He probably thought she was acting like a _woman_. Scully didn't want anyone in the Hoover building thinking about her in those terms.

It seemed needlessly cruel to her that Mulder had gone down that path and unmasked her for what she was. And she was fairly certain, despite the chilly atmosphere, that he knew it had been cruel and probably regretted it. He had probably tossed his remark into the Mulder stew of guilt that he always kept simmering on his internal stove. She waited for three nights to be awakened by his call. She had received those calls before. Not quite apologies, but she knew what he meant to say in those mumbled late night phrases and generally she accepted them and moved on.

No call came. He was professional and quiet and followed the rules as much as Mulder ever could. He listened to her ideas silently, nodding his head and seemingly looking right through her. And he never called. Resentment turned into concern. Mulder was following professional protocol, but not the personal kind to which she had grown accustomed.

She decided to check up on him the only way she knew how. She called the Lone Gunmen.

"What's up buttercup?" Frohike asked joyfully after she announced herself over the line.

"Turn off your recorder, Frohike."

"Covert action, G-woman? I thought perhaps this was a _personal_ call."

"It is. Turn it off," she commanded magisterially.

"Done."

"I'm worried about Mulder," she said, almost embarrassed to voice her concern, which was based on nothing more than good behavior and a lack of contact with her outside of the office—the kind of thing most people would have thought to be a welcome change of pace.

"He's not with Fowley."

Gunshots felt similar to that blow. She wasn't sure if he meant professionally or personally, but she didn't need the reassurance. 

Agent Fowley had disappeared out of Mulder's life just like she had dropped into it—quickly and without much explanation. Scully didn't know whether to thank Diana or Mulder for that. The thought that maybe it was Mulder who'd severed ties wasn't as comforting as she might have hoped it would be. Not when he stared at her blankly like that all the time.

"I didn't call about that," she responded, trying to thaw the frost in her tone, but failing.

"I thought maybe they were back to sharing the sheets, but no go on that."

Scully sighed. Perhaps calling wasn't a good idea after all. "He's not acting like himself."

"Not by a long shot," Frohike concurred.

"You've noticed it?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch.

"He hasn't been by for taco night."

Scully wondered whether that was a euphemism for something she didn't want to know about or whether Mulder spent evenings with three other bachelors eating El Paso taco kit tacos.

The line clicked. "He's checked out big time, dude," a vaguely adolescent voice chimed in.

"Langley, hang up, I've got this," Frohike barked.

"Maybe they've gotten to him," Langley continued unheeded.

"Who?" Scully asked with some resignation.

"_Them_!"

"Langley, hang up. Mulder isn't a turncoat."

"Okay, dude. But he didn't even want to come by to play StarCraft."

"Hang up."

The click seemed to signal that Langley had complied with the final irritated command.

"Well, I'm sorry to have bothered you," Scully muttered, trying to put an end to the fruitless exercise this call was becoming.

Frohike cleared his voice and began to whisper: "are things okay with you two?"

Scully paused. Not to her way of thinking, but she wasn't sure when she began turning to these men to unburden herself. "He's not…acting like himself," she repeated herself.

Frohike breathed heavily, perhaps heaving a sigh. His voice returned to its normal level, "Agent Scully."

"Yes?"

"You two love birds work it out."

Scully pulled the phone away from her ear as she heard a click.

Great. Love birds. Perfect. Of course, if there was any truth to that statement, she probably wouldn't have to sneak around calling his stunted friends for clues as to his behavior—she could go right to the source and question him about it frankly. She glanced over at the clock: 9:43. If she left now, she could be in Alexandria in thirty minutes. She stood up and walked purposefully to the door, grabbing her keys. Why should they need to be love birds in order for her to be frank with her partner?

Scully scanned the street for Mulder's car, but turned up nothing. The lights were off in his apartment. She glanced at her watch. Thirteen minutes after ten o'clock was hardly too late for Mulder to be awake. She reached over the console for her cell phone and flipped it open, dialing Mulder's number. It rang four times—longer than usual—and she began to feel foolish.

"Mulder."

"It's me."

"Hey."

"Did I wake you?"

"No, I'm at the office."

Well that would explain the blacked out apartment. Scully leaned her head against the window of the car. "Mulder, it's Friday night and it's late."

"Not that late."

"No, it is."

"I have some things to wrap up."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah."

Scully straightened her back and massaged the back of her neck with her free hand. "Do you need help, Mulder?" There was a stretch of silence. She tried again, "do you need my help, Mulder?"

"I've got it under control. You enjoy your weekend."

Scully rolled her eyes and reinserted the key in the ignition. "I'll be there in a few minutes," she said, hanging up on him, so as to put an end to any further protest.

* * *

In the silence of the Hoover building after hours, everyone else gone home to wives and children and homes with green lawns, Mulder heard Scully's approach distinctly. She wasn't wearing her heels; she must have changed when she got home. But he could still hear the tap of her shoes on the tiled floor of the basement hallway. He probably should have made some show of being busy and alert or turned on the lights at least, but he didn't have the physical or mental energy to make the effort.

The knob turned and a crack of light came through the door as Scully slowly pushed the door open. Backlit, he couldn't make out her expression as she made a quick professional appraisal of his condition.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?" he asked, trying to sound as if sitting alone at night in the dark of their office was perfectly normal. She was the nutty one to think otherwise.

She took a step into the room and the door closed softly behind her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked gently.

There seemed to be tenderness in her tone, but he shook off the notion as quickly as it formed. He sat forward in his chair, gesturing at scattered files on his desk, but he wasn't sure the gesture was entirely readable in the dark.

Her hand went to the light switch. "Mind if I turn on the light?"

Mulder didn't answer and he was rewarded by a blinding illumination from the overhead fluorescent lights. He blinked before rubbing his eyes and shielding them from the glare.

Scully came around his desk and sat on the edge less than six inches away from him. It was the closest they'd been in weeks. It was both intensely pleasant for her to be that near once again—from the scent of her shampoo and the sheen of her skin—and terribly unpleasant. It hadn't been his plan for her to find him like this. It was too pathetic. He shouldn't have told her where he was. His eyes were slowly adjusting, but he continued to shield them—more from her than the retched light.

"This is rather dark, Mulder"

"It isn't any more," he replied sarcastically.

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

Mulder leaned back in his chair, dropping his hand from his eyes. "There was a backlog."

She glanced over her shoulder at some of the papers which were now tucked underneath her. "I would have stayed late with you. We could be home by now, if we'd worked on it together."

'Ah. _We_.' Except, she still didn't mean it in _that_ way—not the way he wanted. They weren't going home together tonight or ever. His tired mind was playing tricks on him.

She cocked her head to the side when he didn't respond. "Is this you on your best behavior, Mulder?" she asked.

It was. He was being the partner he imagined that she'd always wanted—detached and rule abiding. His hand grabbed the back of his neck and he continued to stare silently.

Scully leaned forward and her fingertips brushed his navy tie that hung loosened from his collar. "If this is you being the ideal agent and partner…" She grasped the tie lightly, as if she was going to uselessly straighten it, making his Adam's apple jump.

He scanned her eyes, trying desperately to read her.

"Then stop it," she commanded.

He knit his brow and she gave his tie a small jerk.

"Stop it," she repeated.

* * *

She let go of his tie and reached up to press her palm against his cheek, wordlessly trying to express more than she'd said. Coming here and being present in this way felt as if she was going eighty miles an hour into a brick wall, but she silenced the panic caused by her thundering heart and continued to hold his face in her hand. Someone had to do something or she might as well have left months ago like she'd threatened. Mulder's hand slipped from his neck and he leaned forward pushing into her middle and crushing her in his embrace.

Whatever isolation booth he'd built for himself apparently was collapsing. They hadn't been close for weeks. The ever present hand in the small of her back had been withdrawn. His issue regarding the observation of personal space seemed to have been resolved. She had been held at arm's length—either for his benefit or hers. Maybe he was tired and his defenses were down or maybe he'd read her silent words, but whatever the cause, he was finally present. The gap had been bridged. She could feel his ragged breath through her white t-shirt and his warm fingers pressing into her skin. Her heart continued to thunder, but she managed to keep still. Punching through the wall might have been the best thing. They weren't love birds, but they were present together.

"Mulder," she whispered into the top of his head. "Mulder, you can't keep missing taco night."


End file.
